Wasteland

The beam of light shone on the grizzly man, highlighting scattering partials as he stirred. Slowly he struggled up and raised his hands to the hands in a yawn as the birds on the makeshift sill tweeted madly. His bare feet slapped against the trampled earth floor as he made his way to the fridge. Hoisting up his loose jeans as one of the many tins of fruit met a speedy end.
A chap chap at the door brought the man to his senses after listening to the anolog radio playing wasteland FM.
“Hello?” and in walked a man of similar size and build but entirely bald and with large burns due to his proximity to a blast.
“Mike, nice to see you.”
“You too, Rick. You coming for a scavenge?” asked Mike gesturing with a military spec weapon, retrieved from one of their earlier endeavours. With a nod Rick packed up his gear and they headed out.
The wind was always the first thing to hit them as they stepped outside. This swirling torrent of turbulence had been an everyday occurrence since the impact. Due to this the surface soil was kept up suspended whizzing like mosquitos through the air. This meant that any working cars were silvery as the paint had been stripped off. The pair quickly put on goggles and mounted their quad bikes.
They travelled over the rolling dunes that had created large valleys as the new wind had shaped them taller than normal. It also kept the sand moving and the dunes are for ever moving. This means a long voyage was never a good idea. As the duo pulled into a barren town they shook themselves off and kicked down the door closest to them. There was the normal unusual calm as the entered the undisturbed abode which was then hit by the fury of the weather and two men who will ransack the place just to survive. The kitchen was always the first place to be raided as food was of the greatest importance.
“Lovely” exclaimed rick as he opens a cabinet and a dozen bottles of well-aged whiskey lay there.
“That’ll do us nicely for the evening”, Mike rightened the table and opened a bottle for a celebratory drink or two. Or eight as it turned out to be.
“Crap” yelled Mike looking out the window. The sun had dipped over the horizon and the night was on its way. There was a pause as time seemed to slow as the sudden occurrence of their foolishness began to sink in.
They leapt up, panicked, knocking over glasses and tables. With no light the mighty dunes would be impossible to navigate. There was a mad scramble for the gear and the quads. The fear began to set in and they were conscious of everything; the lashing of the sand like bullets; the cold, chilling them to the bone like the devil himself and the darkness penetrating the team like a pair of eyes. Then on the horizon like a beacon of hope guiding thee questionable wise men home as the town beacon shone like a light house knocking back the evil of night. Mike’s muscles eased as the worry and fear melted away from him as they trundled through the heavy iron gates holding back the elements. He looked over at his comrade, they thought the same thing, they were safe.